


Integration Part I

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [26]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:26:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you had succeeded in killing Sidious, during your third attempt on his life, what would you have done?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Integration Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Beta beta beta: MerryAmelie, writestufflee, & Norcumi!
> 
> (I might finally be making progress again! ...Just in time for the fall semester to start.)

“You want me to actually throw you in a bacta tank.”

“Yes, Abella.”

From the corner of his eye, Venge watched the Chitanook Healer cross her arms and scowl at him. “You’ve cracked, _and_ you’re crashing too early. You should have easily managed to get past the thirty-day point.”

He felt an intense surge of rage and quashed it as best he could. “I know that, Abella.”

Abella sat down on the shipping crate next to him, close enough that Venge could feel warmth, but not the brush of fur. It was a great relief when she did not try to touch him. He had been struggling with terrible flashes of temper since leaving Corellia the previous afternoon.

“Afterwards?”

Venge nodded, watching as the first of the Shadows began emerging from the Left Strip. Siri Tachi, Yuri Dravaco, and Jaime Grierseer had all elected to stay in the Cathedral. He knew why Siri had stayed, but not the others.

“They’re sleeping together,” Abella informed him in a low voice.

“What, all four of them?” Venge raised an eyebrow. It wouldn’t surprise him to find Siri doing such a thing—she was flexible that way—but Su’um-Va didn’t seem the type.

“No.” Abella giggled under her breath. “I don’t know how four humans could even _navigate_ that kind of encounter, Obi. No; Siri and Su’um-Va are still keeping to themselves. Dravaco and Grierseer have become an item—or at least they certainly smell like it.”

“You are a terrible gossip, but thank you for informing me,” Venge said. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t care about who was pairing with whom, but the situation was not the slightest bit ordinary.

The exterior door opened with a bang and a muffled curse. Herssella Grinn entered on a wave of Rishii swearing, covered in ice and ready to snap things in half with her beak. The Sullustan Gaffi Gyre was just behind her, looking frostbitten.

“Seems like you guys got lost,” Quinlan commented. He was sitting on an empty crate a few meters to Venge’s right, and had spent the last ten minutes pretending not to be eavesdropping.

“Incompetent asshairs,” Gyre spat, pulling off his cloak and dumping a heap of snow onto the floor. “Damned pilot dropped us a full klik from the landing zone.”

“He claimed the Cathedral was cursed, and wanted nothing to do with it.” Herssella fluffed up her feathers in an attempt to warm herself.

“Alas, Temple-affiliated does not always mean intelligent,” Grierseer said. “Want a dry cloak, Gyre?”

“I want a hot, roaring fire,” Gyre muttered, and then his eyes slid to Venge. “But that isn’t necessary.”

“Are you certain?” Venge asked, unable to restrain a wide, feral smile. “It would be easily arranged.” Setting something on fire might help alleviate some of his current ire.

“I like my cloak, even though it is currently wet,” Gyre replied. “No, thank you.”

Another wave of Shadows entered, all of them wearing snow-whitened cloaks: Colm Fieff, smiling and cheerful; Ni-Dia Kurri, who seemed grimly amused; and Skaalka, who stomped snow from her scaly feet and greeted the other Shadows with a wide grin. Brek Fa’an came out of the Posh Line with the Healer twins and Zarin Har. Master Tholme was with them, having returned to the Cathedral to help corral wayward Shadows, if necessary. Venge noted the disquiet that surrounded Fa’an, and wondered if they were going to lose yet another Shadow from class ranks.

The Bo twins were last, ten minutes past the pre-arranged meeting time. Venge had received word in advance, and waited until the Ho’Din brothers shoved the door closed to block out a fresh gust of arctic chill.

“Sorry,” Greegor said, noticing that they were the focus of everyone’s gathered attention.

“Someone set the Fondor Waystation on fire. Again,” Breegin added. “We called in a minor miracle—”

“An asshole smuggler,” Greegor supplied.

“—so that we would only be a little late, as opposed to several days.”

“Welcome back,” Venge said, standing up on the crate. The Shadows turned to face him, expressions ranging from resignation to elation that the next stage of training was underway. “I am glad to see that all twelve of you returned.”

“We are the most stubborn out of a group of very stubborn beings,” Dravaco said.

“He means most insane,” Fieff clarified.

“Both traits are useful here,” Venge replied. “There have been some minor changes. As of this moment, the commissary and medical will both be free from any sort of toxins or tampering.” Venge noted the relief on some faces, and decided that was not the reaction he’d been hoping for. “Watch my wording, you damned fools. As of this moment, the commissary is safe, but that does not mean it will _stay_ that way.”

“When will that change?” Siri asked. She was giving him an attentive stare that Venge did not like. As always, Tachi saw more than he was comfortable with.

“Medical will always be free of Shillanis or tampering, but that is because our Healers need to be able to function without concern for stupid Sith trickery. The commissary, on the other hand, as with all other public and private spaces, will become fair game the moment I teach you all to purge Shillanis.”

“Then we will actually be taught to do so,” Ni-Dia Kurri said. She was frowning, all traces of amusement gone from her remaining eye.

“I do not see how it could be avoided. No progress has been made on any sort of inoculation against its effects. In the broad scheme of things, a quick flare of temper is not something I am concerned about when it comes to your overall survival.”

“What else change?” Skaalka asked.

“Our time together will be less formal than before. In part, because I am going to have to give you access to some…personal information.” Venge scowled. “Also, you will need to become familiar enough with me to know when to leave me the fuck alone. If the past twenty-six hours are any indication, I will not be in the best of moods for the next three months.”

“That is a pile of suck,” Siri said, earning muttered agreement.

“Will we be here for another three months?” Dravaco asked. “I am willing to put in the time, but I admit I didn’t expect to lose a quarter of the year.”

Venge shook his head. “If things proceed as planned, then no—we should be together for about a month and a half, but I cannot yet be more specific than that.”

Breegin let out a startled yelp. “Gods damn it, I hate silent mode!” Abella started laughing when Greegor reached out and punched his brother in the shoulder.

“As Breegin just announced, you have now received several files sent directly to your comms,” Venge said, while Breegin mouthed words that promised retribution upon his sibling. “The first is a non-disclosure agreement, the sort that you see when viewing confidential Healers’ records. Sign it to initiate an auto-decryption of the other files. If you break the non-disclosure, I _will_ set you on fire, whether you are fond of the idea or not,” Venge promised. “The other files contain medical and personal information that refer directly to myself and my Padawan; that is the context you will need for some of the things you will hear, see, and learn while in the Cathedral.”

“A very explicit act of trust,” Herssella murmured.

“If it were not necessary, you would never learn of it,” Venge grated out. “I do not like the idea of so many of you owning my secrets, but I am even less fond of the thought of any of you falling prey to Sidious because of my own reticence.

“Read what you have been given; it should not take more than a few hours. Discuss it among yourselves, if you feel the need. Vos or Tachi should be able to answer any questions you may have, though they also know to practice discretion.”

“Er…how will they know to answer these mysterious and unknown questions?” Fieff asked, brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle his way through the twists of Venge’s meaning.

“Sharings are awful, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a fucking liar,” Tachi said in a flat voice.

“Ah. Gotcha.” Fieff went pale, throwing his freckles into stark relief.

“Better a Sharing than a dead Jedi,” Ra’um-Ve said. “It served its purpose, but Master Kenobi is correct about Tachi and Vos’s ability to answer the questions you soon will have. My brother and I will also make ourselves available in the commissary after dinner hour, as we have been your instructor’s Mind Healers for several years now.”

Fa’an smiled. “Micah wasn’t kidding when he mentioned your life was fucked up, was he?”

Venge felt a sharp, bitter amusement. “You are about to find out how accurate that statement is.”

“And where are you going to be?” It was Kurri who asked the question, not Tachi, which was a minor surprise.

Venge did his best to school his expression, but he knew some of his distaste leaked through. “Unavailable.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“I’m telling you, it’s going to be their first question,” Quinlan was saying.

Siri grinned and put her feet up on the commissary table. As of yet, they had the place to themselves, which meant free food and uninterrupted access to the tea and caff. “And I say you’re too cynical.”

“Want to place a wager?” Quinlan asked, glancing up from his datapad.

“I’m not that kind of girl,” Siri retorted, and then looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Twenty?”

“Twenty if the question is in the same ballpark, forty if the wording is exact,” Quinlan replied.

They shook on it just as Colm Fieff wandered into the commissary. Siri bit her lip against to keep from grinning; he looked like he was suffering from a pretty severe form of constipation.

Quinlan nudged a chair out with one foot. Fieff looked at it and then sat on it with a heavy thump.

“How are you doing there, Colm?”

Fieff frowned, glancing back and forth between Quinlan and Siri. After another minute or two of dithering, he cracked. “This is bullshit, right? It’s just another weird test. Isn’t it?”

Siri sighed as Quinlan laughed. “Dammit. Twenty to you, Vos.”

“Not everyone is accepting as you, Tachi,” Quinlan returned, still chuckling as Siri threw the appropriate chit at his head.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Zarin Har put down his datapad and sighed, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. It was a very humanoid gesture that he’d picked up from his former Master. He was now close to his own Mastery, and still he could not shake the habit. “We’ve all seen the numbers. What’s the prognosis?”

Abella grimaced and looked at the Vastra twins. The twins glanced at each other before Ra’um-Ve uttered, _“Balls.”_

“About as bad as I suspected, then,” Zarin said. “I was hoping my relative inexperience with human biochemistry was the problem, not Master Kenobi.”

“The bacta _is_ helping,” Abella insisted. “His numbers have been rising steadily since the first hour of being submerged.”

“I dare say the sleep is helping, too.” Su’um-Va managed a slight smile. “The Vratix never mentioned that bacta also functions as a sedative.”

“I don’t think it’s the bacta. I think it’s a mammalian response to being submerged into what is essentially a recreated womb.” Zarin grinned. “My first time in the new tanks, acting as our test patient, I fell asleep within about four minutes after being submerged. Personal record, that.”

“I think it’s the sensory deprivation,” Abella said. “Bacta tanks really do act almost the same as sensory deprivation tanks, thanks to bacta’s ability to slow down and therefore muffle sound waves. It’s amazing. The only thing missing is the complete darkness of full sensory deprivation.”

“Forget the sensory deprivation for now,” Ra’um-Ve interrupted them. Zarin restrained a sigh. Medical arguments were the fastest way to get Abella riled up. They were not yet mates, but the engaging conversation might lead them that way.

Abella shot him a narrow-eyed but forgiving glare. _Flirt later,_ she sent. That was his other bit of hope—he had not established such an easy mental camaraderie with anyone outside of his Master.

 _As you command,_ he replied in all seriousness. She was correct; their patient took priority.

“Biochemistry _is_ what we should be paying more attention to from here on out,” Ra’um-Ve said. “Forget the basic sedatives we’ve been using. It’s time to attack the overstimulation itself.”

“You are about to learn more about human neurological chemistry than you might have planned for,” Abella said to Zarin.

“And I think we’ll be pushing you a lot closer to your Mastery as well, Abella,” Su’um-Va said. Zarin looked for the spark of teasing that marked humanoid interaction and found it missing, which made his fur ripple from neck to tailbone.

“I am nowhere near ready for Mastery.” Abella wrinkled her nose. “I just attained my Healer’s status.”

Ra’um-Ve’s lips quirked. “Consider yourself fast-tracked, dear. Now, then: I think we should start with acetylcholine reduction.”

Su’um-Va immediately shook his head. “Gamma-aminobutyric acid supplement.”

Zarin felt like face-palming. His Master had been such a bad influence on his social gestures. “Back up at least one step. I do not know what either of those are.”

“They’re types of neurotransmitters,” Abella told him. “Common to baseline humans and about sixty percent of humanoids.”

“Neurotransmitter is a word that I know. Tell me why you’re arguing over these two in particular,” Zarin requested.

The twins stared at each other, a long moment of non-verbal communication. “Acetylcholine is the neurotransmitter most often associated with anger and aggression,” Ra’um-Ve said.

“Whereas gamma-aminobutyric acid is an inhibitor,” Su’um-Va explained. “Inhibition of neurotransmission could impede A Drop of Fire’s ability to crank up the limbic system.”

“But we’re treating him for limbic-based anger and aggression,” Ra’um-Ve growled. “We should be more direct with our efforts.”

“It’s more dangerous to mess about with acetylcholine directly,” Su’um-Va retorted. “G.A.A. rarely has side-effects.”

“Everything has side-effects!”

“Quiet!” Abella shouted, an impressive effort that made Zarin flatten his ears and drop his head in a futile attempt to escape the sound.

“Sorry,” Ra’um-Ve said, sounding and looking far too petulant for a Healing Master.

Su’um-Va rubbed his chin. “I apologize as well. It’s…neither of us are pleased at this speedy progression, and if one of us is tense, it sort of multiplies between the two of us.”

“Understood,” Abella said. “Broaden your horizon. Serotonin. Dopamine. Norepinephrine. I think that those three, plus the two you’ve mentioned, are the neurotransmitters that we should worry about.”

“All other neurotransmitters, I’m guessing,” Zarin said, feeling the fur on his arms constrict. No wonder humans as a general rule were a pissy, emotive lot. Bothans had four neurotransmitters, total.

“Oh, humans have around twenty named and recognized neurotransmitters,” Abella said, and grinned at the horrified look on Zarin’s face.

“As my sister and I also have a baseline humanoid neurotransmitter count, we’ll thank you to keep the species-insanity jokes to a minimum,” Su’um-Va said, and then returned to the matter at hand. “We could try massive serotonin boosts, first.”

Zarin could tell by the expression on Abella’s face that she did not agree. “I don’t think we should be taking a singular approach.”

“Paired neurotransmitter therapy.” Ra’um-Ve took a moment to rest her face in the palms of her hands. “This is why I say you’re on a fast-track, furball. Paired therapy has a greater success rate for affecting mood unless you’re treating a disease.”

“Exactly,” Abella said, smiling. “Fire isn’t a disease, it’s a mood destabilizer.”

“Serotonin and dopamine boosts in the mornings,” Su’um-Va said. “And at night, gamma aminobutyric acid supplements with acetylcholine binders to help limit their influence.”

Zarin frowned. “The latter two—do they not work at cross-purposes?”

“They could, if we get the dosages wrong,” Ra’um-Ve answered. “If we keep the G.A.A dose high, and the acetylcholine low…”

“Very low,” Su’um-Va interjected. “We don’t want to do something stupid and cause early-onset Long-term Memory Failure.”

Ra’um-Ve nodded. “Then it’s possible. We can’t just inhibit the acetylcholine without increasing the risk of L.M.F., else this would be much easier.”

“Would this fix the problem?” Zarin asked, curious.

The twins shook their heads, perfectly in sync with each other. “No,” said Ra’um-Ve.

Su’um-Va looked discouraged. “Fire will continue to burn at the same rate. It means that Obi-Wan will reach a tolerance point for the neurological supplements, and dosages will have to be increased, which is something that we cannot do beyond a certain point, no matter what Fire does. The neurological consequences could be…not devastating, per se, but not kind, either.”

“There’s a chance that there will be withdrawal from Fire, once its influence ends,” Abella said, her eyes widening with realization. “Dammit, that didn’t even occur to me.”

Su’um-Va nodded. “If that happens, I don’t want that man’s system trying to recover from overexposure to neurochemicals, as well.”

Ra’um-Ve had a tired grin on her face. “He did ask us upon first meeting not to make his head explode.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

T’ra Saa could not get through a single hour of her life without now feeling the burden of being Master of the Order. The title seemed to float behind her, trailing and catching attention that her presence had never garnered before.

It was…annoying. She understood her student’s perpetual scowl so much better, now, and would tease Mace for his pensive expression far less often. She also understood why Yoda had escaped all chance of earning the title by becoming Master of the Crèche last year.

“Easier, it does get,” Yoda had told her on the second day of her appointment. She had answered him only with a sour look, aware of the fact that he was lying through his ancient green lips.

Now, T’ra was sitting in a private briefing with the Master of Shadows, Mace Windu, and Saesee Tiin, learning the full extent of the Shadows’ latest venture on Entrios. Nothing she had heard led her to feel any more confidence in Yoda’s declaration. “I don’t want to replace yet another Councilor, Boda,” T’ra said, wondering at the ache in her head. Her circulatory systems were supposed to make such things impossible.

“No, and we don’t want that, either,” Boda answered. “The High Council has seen a frightening amount of turnovers this year. Losing Obi-Wan would be a bit more than the Order could handle, politically.”

“The Healers on Entrios are doing what they can, and none of them are willing to give up. Neither is Master Kenobi, for that matter,” Mace said.

T’ra smiled. “I saw nothing in the records that would imply that Obi-Wan Kenobi had been Confirmed as a Master.”

“Some truths do not require confirmation of any sort,” Saesee replied. When he took in her polite, disbelieving look, the Iktotchi Master snorted. “I _am_ capable of speech, when I feel it necessary.”

“I’m glad to see that it is so. I’ve long gotten used to your monosyllabic grunting, Master Tiin.”

Saesee lifted his lips in a smile—or possibly a sneer. Some days, it was hard to tell. “We may have a way to provide assistance to Obi-Wan, Master T’ra,” he said.

That was how she found out about the arrangement that had been made for the criminal, Jenna Zan Arbor. T’ra reshaped her brow, shifting matter to increase circulation to the area. There was no doubt about it; her head _ached_.

On their way down to the detention level, Mace gave her a self-deprecating grin. “Head hurts?”

T’ra did not scowl, as it would be unseemly and revealing. “Are you going to feed me false encouragement as well, Padawan?”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing,” Mace said. “But I believe that pains and aches centering about the brain pass on from one Master of the Order to the next. It’s a terrible tradition.”

“I refuse to accept a permanent ache in my head,” T’ra muttered, her vision narrowing as the receptors in her eyes adjusted to the change of light as they emerged from the lift. The detention level halls were kept dark, to showcase the bright cells of any temporary prisoners the Order might have acquired. Today, most of the cells were empty but for a Padawan awaiting censure for a _very_ drunk and disorderly arrest, if the information posted to the wall was any indication.

T’ra paused in front of the cell. “Jax Krenth.”

Padawan Krenth glanced up from his bunk, winced, and then put his head back down again. “Oh, gods, it’s worse.”

“You’re damn right it’s worse.” Mace crossed his arms, his face morphing into the famous scowl that had terrified scores of misbehaving Jedi. “Linena did _not_ need this right now, Padawan.”

“What in the worlds caused your arrest, Jax?” T’ra asked, studying the humanoid Padawan with a deliberately cool gaze. Linena had not been her Padawan, but the sister of Licia had been a consistent presence for many years. Linena had always presented herself as the more sensible of the sisters, but her choice of second Padawan seemed to excel at troublemaking and chaos-creation. His only saving grace was his lack of malice. With Depa Billaba gone, Krenth’s exploits would sit heavily upon Linena.

Krenth shrugged, looking miserable…and still very much hung over, if the scent was any indication. “Overwhelming stupidity?”

“Well, at least you’ve admitted it,” T’ra murmured, exchanging looks with Mace.

 _I’ll handle it_ ,Mace sent. _Perhaps it’s for the best. Zan Arbor is used to my type of threats._

T’ra nodded and stepped away; Saesee Tiin resumed leading her towards the rear of the detention level. “We’ve had to make structural adaptations,” Saesee explained in a quiet voice as they walked. “She needs access to a real lab to fulfill the terms of her surrender, but I am not inclined to do so until we can be certain of her motives.”

T’ra frowned. “I see,” she said, something that became doubly true once the last three cells came into view. The walls that connected them had been removed, turning them into a large, decadent enclosure—at least when it came to detention cells. Laboratory equipment of all types filled the space, with power lines and temporary conduits crisscrossing the floor. T’ra recognized half of the devices, but the rest proved too obscure.

Jenna Zan Arbor was seated in front of a high-power microscope, her attention riveted to the eyepiece. Living cells danced across the display screen above her head. T’ra did not think it was her imagination that gave her the impression of cells actively fleeing an intrusive needle.

T’ra waited only a moment before realizing that Zan Arbor either would not or could not turn away from her work. “Introduce me, please,” she told Saesee.

“Zan Arbor, you have a guest,” Saesee called, his voice louder and harsher than usual.

“A moment,” Zan Arbor said, not lifting her head from her work. On the screen, one of the cells was pierced by the needle, an almost invisible component added before the needle withdrew. “And…there.” The woman sat up and turned on her stool, pulling cloth mask and cap from her head to reveal pale skin, reddish-blonde hair, and cold gray eyes.

T’ra met the scientist’s gaze without flinching. She had been told that Zan Arbor had no morals to speak of, and T’ra believed it. There was something missing in Zan Arbor’s psyche, and it left a cold place in the Force that T’ra did not like.

Saesee’s eyes narrowed. “Jenna Zan Arbor, I present to you the new Head of the Order, Master T’ra Saa.”

“New?” Zan Arbor smiled. “Did something happen to dear Master Windu, then?”

“He is alive and well. The title of Head of the Order does shift, on occasion,” T’ra replied in a dry voice, allowing nothing of her feelings to show even as her sap wanted to turn sluggish. Odd that this woman tested so low for Force sensitivity, as her presence was such a tangible thing. “I wished to discuss Obi-Wan Kenobi with you.”

“He is still alive, then.” Zan Arbor seemed pleased. “Tell me how he is doing. I desperately want to know.”

T’ra sensed the woman’s pleasure was genuine, but stronger was her overwhelming need for information. _Now I understand the nature of the bargain that was made,_ she thought.

“He is not well, but not physically failing,” T’ra granted. “Are you aware of the time period a single dose of A Drop of Fire lasts?” When Zan Arbor replied in the negative, T’ra said, “Six days.”

Zan Arbor raised an eyebrow. “Then I gifted him with at least one hundred twenty days of its influence. That is higher than I’d initially assumed, given that a single dose was so small. It’s too bad. He will be dead by then, given Fire’s traits.”

“Oh, it certainly is too bad,” T’ra agreed, crossing her arms in an intentional mimicry of what was largely a humanoid gesture. “Perhaps you have not given proper thought to what his death will mean.”

Zan Arbor’s gaze locked onto hers. “Please enlighten me.”

“Kenobi is the one who arranged for this particular…excess,” T’ra said, indicating the laboratory equipment that had been packed into the cell. “With your negotiator deceased, all terms will be null and void. You will face a regular jail cell, not this luxury.”

Zan Arbor’s nostrils flared; her gray eyes gained some semblance of heat. “I see,” she said, and composed herself with a Jedi’s speed. It was clear that while Zan Arbor was single-minded, she was not stupid. “Is this what it will come to? I will be given an impossible problem, while the promise of a true laboratory is dangled in front of me like an enticing bit of bait?”

“Not at all,” T’ra said, and she could tell by Saesee’s scowl that it was not what he wished to hear. That was too bad; T’ra would sacrifice no Jedi needlessly, and she was above bait-dangling. “I will see to it that you are moved into a proper laboratory, post-haste, as long as you understand that you have only two months to provide a cure for the terrible thing you have recreated.”

“Two months? Not three?” Zan Arbor asked. She was smiling again. The woman had not only accepted the challenge, it seemed she might actually thrive upon it.

“There will be no last-minute dramatics. You will either provide a cure, or you will be delivered to the nearest and deepest dark hole,” T’ra said in a flat, uncompromising voice.

“You understand that I might not be able to manufacture a cure in that amount of time,” Zan Arbor said, frowning. “To restructure Fire in such a way that it activated in response to any emotional cue, not just anger—that was the work of many months.”

“Then we have nothing more to say to each other,” T’ra said, and turned to leave.

“Wait.”

T’ra paused, but did not turn. “Yes?”

“I will need a current sample of Kenobi’s blood, and the latest neurochemistry profiles your Healers have taken. If I am to succeed, I need up-to-date information,” Zan Arbor said. There was a sharpness to her voice that set T’ra’s phloemic system to work, trying to purge a rot that did not exist.

T’ra turned around. “Two months.”

Zan Arbor’s eyes were glittering with suppressed anger. “You have my word.”

“Such as it is,” Saesee muttered.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Siri ran one gloved finger down the desktop surface, then across the seat. “Not a trace,” she said, casting one surreptitious eye towards the clearboard at the front of the room. No messages yet; it was possible that Venge would arrive soon…or already had. She couldn’t quite shake the sensation of being watched.

“I am not removing my leathers,” Herssella said, hopping into a chair. Her talons were bound for protection against Shillanis, as were the pads of her fingers. “It is too much work to remove them, and I do not trust that all surfaces will be free of toxins.”

“Wise decision,” Dravaco said. He was wiping down his seat and desktop with an alcohol solution, but didn’t seem to be in any hurry to remove his gloves, either. All of the Shadows had covered their exposed skin from neck to wrist to ankles, when possible; Herssella remained in her cloak to keep powder out of her feathers. Skaalka had given in to the inevitable and was wearing boots, though she didn’t look happy about it.

The lecture hall seemed much larger, now that there were only twelve bodies to fill the room. However, no one had sat without inspecting their immediate area for traps, which gave Siri hope that maybe all of them would make it through. Venge hadn’t mentioned kicking anyone else out of the group, but she wasn’t stupid enough to believe that there weren’t more ways to fuck up.

Fieff was perching on his desktop, not the seat. He hadn’t abandoned his “harmless fool” persona, but his knee was jigging up and down in a display of honest nerves. Siri didn’t blame him. Much. “I know I’ve asked this several times, but are we sure this isn’t just a really fancy test?”

Venge unshielded all at once, which made Siri flinch as the Dark eddies in the Force uncurled and struck her full in the face. She turned to find him sitting cross-legged on the long desk next to the lectern, resting his chin on his hands.

“You give my imagination far too much credit,” Venge told Fieff, whose leg had halted mid-twitch. “I would have to be a special sort of sadist to have composed a great deal of what you read yesterday. As it is, some of you may believe me to be a sadist in truth before our time together is over.”

Siri hid a wince. Thank all the gods above and below that she’d tamed her roaming streak long enough to learn the first of the pain meditations.

“How in the _worlds_ do you do that?” Kurri asked in open admiration. “I am aware of the concept of hiding one’s visible form, but not the means of hiding oneself in the Force.”

“It is a combination of techniques, as you have already surmised,” Venge said, while Fieff scrambled to seat himself properly. It felt, bizarrely, like being back in regular Temple classes; the lecturing Master sat at the front, surrounded by twelve attentive faces.

“You will be learning both, and some of you will acquire the techniques faster than others,” Venge continued, “but not at the moment. This morning, I will answer any remaining questions that yesterday’s reading might have prompted. You might not like what I have to say, but I _will_ answer you honestly.”

“That is slightly terrifying,” Grierseer said. “Honesty, from a Sith?”

Venge frowned. “Truths are a Sith’s greatest weapon, Grierseer. Sidious once destroyed the Republic and built an Empire, and not once did he utter a falsehood to do it.” Siri felt a bit of relief when the Darkness pulled back, centering itself more or less around Venge. He didn’t re-shield, but he wasn’t overwhelming her senses, either.

That made her paranoid. If he was holding back now, he was going to open the floodgates later.

“See, that’s why I keep internally screaming bullshit,” Fieff spoke up, brows drawn together. “How in the entire fuck does that work?”

“Raise your hand if you took Temporal Physics as a Padawan,” Venge said, and looked disappointed when only Siri and Gyre raised their hands. “One day, I am going to use my powers for evil and insist that the class become a core requirement.”

“Your Councilor’s seat has gone to your head already,” Vos said with a grin.

“All right.” Venge sat up straight, though he didn’t rise from the desk. “The first thing you would learn in that class is that time travel cannot involve mass—at least as far as our current understanding of that particular branch of science extends. Much like teleportation, the energy required makes the endeavor impossible. Thus, instead of physical bodies, we are dealing with the transfer of consciousness.”

“Then why was it only the three of you? You, Padawan Skywalker, and Sidious,” Grierseer clarified.

“Humiliation. Humor.” Venge spread his arms out in a dramatic shrug. “We do not know. I do not believe Sidious knows, either, else I firmly believe that he would have acted against the Order sooner. Instead, he continued with his plans regarding Naboo, even knowing that the invasion had failed once before.”

“Then you do not believe that your…renewed presence is related to the Prophecy of the Chosen One?” Kurri asked.

“It has not been ruled out, but I do not believe it is strictly dependent upon it.” Venge hesitated. “I would rather it not be. I think it would change the prophecy’s intent, and I do not like that idea at all.”

“How the hell do you keep your sanity?” Greegor blurted.

“Between the now, the past, and the future you remember, and the possible now and future and past you’re in, or might be facing?” Breegin said, his expression twisting up as he puzzled his way through the potentials.

Venge did nothing more than stare at them both.

“That…was a stupid question, wasn’t it?” Greegor said, looking abashed.

“For given values of current events, yes,” Venge replied, but Siri thought she could detect essence of Amused Old-Man Kenobi in his yellow eyes.

“What part not-vision would want see true?” Skaalka asked. The Trandoshan woman looked like she was wearing her desk, it was so damned inappropriately small.

Venge didn’t hesitate. “My second Padawan.” Siri wondered if anyone else noticed that he was being careful to say Padawan, not apprentice.

Fa’an had been maintaining a quiet presence, sitting the furthest away from the lectern, but now she spoke. “Why is that doubtful? Beyond the obvious fact of Padawan Skywalker’s current age, that is.”

“Biology and genetics do not necessarily combine the same way twice. He may never exist, and that would be a great loss, for all of us. Luke Skywalker was a magnificent Knight.”

No, Siri wasn’t imagining it. She was seeing far more of Ben and Obi-Wan in Venge’s eyes, though his expression was still carefully guarded. She couldn’t decide if that was reassuring or alarming.

“You would say that,” Dravaco said with a smile that was not quite a smirk. “All Masters think that way about their Padawans. I certainly feel that way about mine, and he’s almost done with his Five-Year.”

Venge shook his head. “I did not live to see him attain his Knighthood; someone else completed his training. So yes, I will say it, for it is the truth.”

That made Dravaco frown, while Siri ducked her head to hide a grin. That hadn’t been in the summaries Venge had granted them access to. “If you were dead, how would you know?” Dravaco asked.

“How, indeed.” Obi-Wan could be sarcastic with perfect politeness, but Venge’s sarcasm was so deeply entrenched it was carving its way through Entrios’s planetary core.

Grierseer was shaking her head. “We become one with the Force when we die. We don’t maintain individuality."

Venge didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “I suppose you could disperse with your consciousness if you wished, but who would want to? You would miss out on all the fun.”

“You’re talking about Force ghosts,” Kurri said. She was smiling, her lips curved up in genuine delight.

“Blasphemy,” Dravaco muttered, looking incensed.

Venge laughed aloud, and there was no mistaking the mockery in the sound. “Dravaco, you are sitting in a lecture hall to learn about Sith ways so that you might hunt a Sith of your very own—a Sith that the Order at large did not believe could possibly still exist until he started throwing Force-lightning at us. I think we are a bit beyond blasphemy.”

“How many years did you spend as a Force ghost?” Vos asked. “I couldn’t quite figure that out during the Sharing.” Siri covered her mouth to hide another grin; Vos was a complete shit.

“At least four,” Venge said, after doing what appeared to be a quick bit of counting in his head. “Time is different when you are dead. It was very difficult to keep track.”

“The purge you mentioned really happened.” Herssella snapped her beak, looking predatory. “Is that why you are one of the Councilors pushing for the acceptance of older students?”

“And multiple students per Master,” Venge confirmed, which definitely grabbed everyone’s attention.

Skaalka didn’t seem alarmed. “Why do that?”

Venge smiled. “Do you know how many empty quarters there are in the East Tower alone?” When no one answered, his smile vanished. “Many. The Temple on Coruscant was built to house thirty thousand Jedi, and instead, there are only ten thousand and three of us as of yesterday’s count.”

“Fuck!” Dravaco swore, his eyes wide. “That’s all?”

“Dear gods,” Kurri whispered. “There were twenty thousand Jedi in the Order when I was Knighted, and that was only eighty years ago. I thought our numbers were increasing, not decreasing!”

“The Order has undergone a rapid decline. In the last ten years alone, we have lost a thousand Jedi from our rosters,” Venge said in a cold voice. “Most of those deaths were in the field; only ten percent were from old age.”

“That’s unbelievable,” Grierseer whispered. “How could we not notice?”

“A distinct lack of self-awareness.” Venge raised an eyebrow when some of the Shadows made noises of denial. “Oh? Jedi are not omniscient, and yet too often we act as though we are. There have not been enough Jedi to serve the Republic efficiently in four hundred years, but it is a fact that we gloss over and ignore, even as our numbers dwindle. Now we face the threat of a Sith, one of the most dedicated and terrifying Sith Lords the line of Bane has ever seen, and who do we have in place to defeat him? One time-displaced Jedi Master, and a mere twelve Shadows. _Twelve._ ”

“Shit.” Vos was staring at Venge, wide-eyed. “Shit and triple-fuck. You don’t think we’re going to be enough, do you?”

Siri felt an icy lump center itself in her gut. That hadn’t occurred to her at all.

Venge pressed his hand against his forehead, looking pained…just as the Darkness that surrounded him flexed outwards again, brushing against Siri’s shields. It felt like being blasted with ice and heat.

The ice-heat pulled back as Venge took a breath, composing himself. “No. No, I do not.”

“I have every confidence in—”

Venge held up one hand, cutting off Gyre. “That is not the problem. I have every confidence in this group, as well. Otherwise, you would not be sitting here. Save your protests for when they will be useful—we all share in your enthusiasm.”

Skaalka hissed out something in Trandoshan before switching back to Basic. “Then what is problem?”

“Sidious stole a Kamino cloning tank, and was joined by one of their top geneticists. That means he is up to something, but we have no real way of discerning what unless we find him.” Venge scowled. “In case you have missed those briefings, Sidious is _also_ capable of hiding himself within the Force. Between that and his habit of constructing domiciles out of Force-inhibiting stone, he could disappear for as long as he likes. Sidious could then reverse-engineer that cloning tank, duplicate it, and present us with an army to fight…or he could clone himself a new body with an entirely different genetic template, create a brand-new identity, and hide in plain sight for another six decades while we exhaust ourselves trying to find him. Either way, no: thirteen of us are not enough. Not for hunting Sidious, and not for fighting him.”

“Well,” said Breegin.

“That’s depressing,” Greegor added, which did little to alleviate the tension in the room.

Siri stood up, making sure her fellow Shadows took notice. “Just so everyone is clear, I’ve got a question of my own. You’re not a Sith, are you?”

Venge studied her in a way that made her understand what it must have been like, to stand before Sidious and have the Sith Master’s reptilian gaze pinning you in place. “In times of peace, I am not, and I will not be,” he said in a quiet voice. “But to ensure that you are all ready to face Sidious and survive? For that, I will be Venge, and I will mean every moment of it.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Fieff said, looking uncomfortable.

Venge grinned at them, his expression utterly feral. “As I once told my Padawan: I rarely do anything just to be nice.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

[How is Kashyyyk?]

Qui-Gon looked at the comm’s text panel, shaking off sleep dredges. He’d pulled the comm on instinct the moment it had vibrated against his skin. The tiny viewscreen provided the only light in his guest quarters, and was extremely bright after hours of uninterrupted darkness.

[Surprisingly damp, but peaceful after Corellia] Qui-Gon sent in response, swearing under his breath when he had to retype several words more than once. [How are you, love?]

[I think Zan Arbor and the Healers have conspired together to create perfect bottled insanity.] Venge’s response was immediate, once Qui-Gon discounted the time delay from the Holonet relays. [I have never been so happy about being so blasted angry. I cannot wait to find out what this evening’s experiments bring.]

Qui-Gon grimaced. He fully understood that the Vastra twins, Abella, and Zarin Har were trying their best to help, but “experiments” was not a word that evoked confidence. [Try not to set anyone on fire?]

[There are so many more options than flame.]

Oh, that was not an encouraging sign. [No deaths, and keep property destruction to a minimum] Qui-Gon instructed.

He knew their Lifebond was shielded, and still he thought he sensed deep amusement from Venge. [The former is preferable, but it is far, far too late to do anything about the latter.]

[I don’t even want to know.] It was true; as far as Qui-Gon was concerned, property damage was a matter for the Master of Shadows to deal with, as it was her facility.

[How is Rillian?]

Qui-Gon smiled. [She was whisked away by elderly, fawning Wookiees almost the moment we stepped foot off the ship.] His smile faded. [Anakin, however, is starting to fret about not hearing from you regarding the information he left for you.]

[I’ve read it] Venge replied.

[And?]

[I am trying to figure out how to tell my father that my mother is dead because of a carefully orchestrated, genocidal plot.]

Qui-Gon frowned and sat up. Voice communication would be so much easier, but Venge only initiated those contacts when he felt he could get through a conversation without a flare of temper. [Then you do think that Rhen’s Disease is being used intentionally.]

[No. I think Rhen’s is an artificial construct designed specifically to significantly reduce the Outer Rim trading clans, which paved the way for the Trade Federation’s rise to power.]

“Damn,” Qui-Gon said aloud, forgetting that he was not alone in the room. However, Anakin’s only response was to shift in his bunk and roll over without waking.

[That is much darker than what I’d come up with.] The timing fit—the timing fit _very_ well. In the last hundred years, the Trade Federation had laid claim to more and more trading routes…routes that should have been controlled by individual groups. The competition had kept the cost of fuel and commercial goods at a stable price. It was only lately that both costs had skyrocketed.

[I am more cynical than you.] A second message from Venge popped up right after the first. [Tell Anakin that when he presents his findings to the Council, I will be there if he wishes me to be] he said, and then his comm beeped a disconnect notice.

Teya landed on Qui-Gon’s legs with a heavy thump. “Yes, it was him.”

 _“Meff,”_ said Teya, and started thrashing his tail again.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Raallandirr of Kashyyyk had grown up knowing that her place in Wookiee society was not typical. She was one of the few children of her homeworld with no living aunts from either side of her family. Her mother and sisters were not allowed to take their place, which meant that Rillian had no elder females to advise her during her coming-of-age ceremonies. Instead, the role was granted to her uncles.

Rillian’s doting uncles would have been baffled and helpless in the face of such a thing if not for her calling: Rillian was a warrior, the rare female Wookiee who had chosen to follow that path. Thus she was celebrated, even more so than a male Wookiee child would have been for learning the fighting arts.

The fact that she was also a Jedi Padawan was less unusual and just sort of a pleasant bonus.

A female Wookiee in her thirteenth year would normally have been surrounded by aunts, discussing healing, teaching, cooking, technological exploits, flight, art—all of which were highly valued skills. Most females would be masters of their chosen path before the end of their first century.

Instead, Rillian sat quite still as her eldest uncle used nimble fingertips and claws to place the braids of the hunt in her mane, which had been allowed to grow to its full length for her _hrrtayyk_. She hadn’t suspected a thing, not even when Master Qui-Gon kept “forgetting” to trim her hair back after Tholatin.

[You will let nothing snare these braids,] Burrnbacca rumbled. [A true master of the forest will move among the trees with no trace of his or her passing—not upon the path, nor upon the body.]

[Yes, Uncle.]

Her mother’s brother, Yurrinerr, was sitting in front of Rillian. [Because you are female, your _hrrtayyk_ differs from the ones we give to the males. Listen well to me, child.]

[Yes, Uncle,] Rillian repeated, wondering what she was about to be told. She hadn’t known the _hrrtayyk_ would be different.

[The galaxy thinks that the males of our species are the most ferocious, because it is the males who practice the warrior arts most often. You know that is not true. Our females are the guardians of our homes, the protectors of our young. Our females are the strongest of us, and we depend upon them to safeguard us in times of war. Anyone who believes otherwise is either ignorant, or a fool.] Yurrinerr’s eyes glimmered with amusement. Rillian wondered who the fool had been.

[Your _hrrtayyk_ is not to merely survive the lower forests, a task you would find easy. You will instead shadow another of our young males as he performs his own _hrrtayyk,_ ] Yurrinerr said.

Rillian tried not to frown in confusion. [To follow another? I thought that the _hrrtayyk_ was to be completed alone.]

[Of course it is,] her third uncle, Trrynarrr, was chuckling. [But we value our cubs, young Raallandirr. Though we do not give aid, we still keep watch. We make sure the cubs are not left to suffer should something go wrong. This is a great secret, and you will tell no cub among us that they have a hidden guardian. Those performing their _hrrtayyk_ must believe that they are acting independently, to gain the confidence they will need to follow their chosen life-path.]

[Oh,] Rillian said. That made sense. [Who will be following me, then?]

All three of her uncles laughed. [So bold,] Burrnbacca rumbled. [You will meet your shadow at the completion of your _hrrtayyk_ , as it will be your guardian who brings you back to the village to announce your success.]

[As you will be announcing young Saandirrin’s success, if he does well,] Yurrinerr told her.

Rillian grinned with delight. [My cousin! I hadn’t realized that Saandirrin was old enough.]

[My son is just now ready,] Yurrinerr said, pride audible in his voice. [He turned twelve summers last month. It is a good omen that two young cubs from our clan are ready for their _hrrtayyk_ at the same time.]

[Your task is not only to follow,] Trrynarrr warned her, sobering all three of her uncles. [You must never let Saandirrin realize that he is being followed. You must not help him in any way, _unless_ he will die without your assistance. You will do these things while also seeing to your own care and safety.]

[For your _hrrtayyk_ , you are Wookiee, not Jedi. Your lightsabers must remain here,] Burrnbacca said, and held out his massive paws, palm up. The pads of his hands were scarred from long-ago battles.

Rillian placed her two lightsabers into each waiting hand. [Keep them safe for me, Uncle.]

[I will,] Burrnbacca promised.

Trrynarrr held out his own _ryyk_ blade, hilt first. [Child of our clan, my knife is yours for your journey.]

Rillian accepted her uncle’s weapon, caressing its sheath with reverent fingers. To carry another’s _ryyk_ was honor enough, but the leather that bound this had been tanned, shaped, and decorated by Trrynarr’s deceased wife. The Wookiee Weffirraan was skilled enough at her chosen craft that she had been famous throughout the quadrant for her work. She’d been killed by a jealous, backstabbing trader just after Rillian had been presented to the Jedi Temple crèche, and was the only aunt that Rillian had memory of.

[Thank you for your _ryyk._ I will use it to your honor and mine,] Rillian said, giving the proper reply to her uncle’s traditional words.

[You go with that weapon only,] Burrnbacca said. [There is nothing lurking in your bandolier pockets, is there? No hidden bit of food or technology?]

[Of course not!] Rillian replied, miffed enough to forget that it was also traditional to be asked that question. [The forest will feed me.]

[Good girl.] Yurrinerr smiled. [Come. It is time to be sneaky Wookiees.]

Burrnbacca led them to a trapdoor in a storeroom near the back of his home. [I will stay here, to continue our necessary ruse. Good luck on your hunt, niece,] he said, and waved them out.

Rillian waited until her other uncles had both dropped down into the dim world below and then followed, using her claws to hook into the ancient wood and vine that supported her home village. [What ruse?] she asked, easily keeping pace with Yurrinerr and Trrynarrr. Both of her uncles were climbing at half the speed she knew them capable of.

[We cannot give you the proper village send-off, not without Saandirrin finding out about you,] Trrynarrr howled back. [We are taking you close to the route that Saandirrin will use to climb down to the lower forest. You will be able to see him, but he will not notice us. Your _hrrtayyk_ begins at the moment that you choose to follow your cousin.]

[Oh!] Rillian replied, surprised. [Yes, Uncle.] She hadn’t expected to begin her _hrrtayyk_ without the village gathering to see her off. The moment her uncles halted their pace, Rillian sent a query down her training bond. _Master?_

 _Yes, Rillian?_ Master Qui-Gon replied. _Is something wrong?_

 _No, Master_ , Rillian answered, and realized she was smiling. _My_ hrrtayyk _is a bit different from what we expected. It will begin in a few moments, and you won’t be able to see me off._

 _That explains why there is a completely different Wookiee receiving the village farewell,_ Qui-Gon said. _May the Force be with you, Raallandirr_ , he sent, the words accompanied by a warm rush of affection.

 _Thank you, Master._ Rillian drew in a deep breath as her cousin Sandy came into sight, pointed out by Uncle Yurrinerr. Saandirrin had his father’s near-blond coloring, with random spots of darker brown that gave him a mottled appearance. The color blend was perfect for trees, whereas Rillian’s unusual black and silver fur was better suited to shadow.

 _I’ll see you in five days,_ Rillian sent, and began the long climb down to the Shadowlands far below.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Aw, we get presents, too?”

Quinlan winced when Siri nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, _hard_. “I mean, thank you very much for this bountiful mystery gift.”

He didn’t know what Tachi was so worried about. Venge was ignoring them both, his attention focused on unpacking the crate. Granted, that was fun to watch, since he was using nothing but the Force to lift out each of the sealed boxes.

The weird part was that they were meeting in the commissary. Venge had only ever joined them in this particular room after the last lot of idiots had tried to kill him. It _shouldn’t_ have been strange, and yet Quinlan felt it intensely, like an itch at the base of his skull. His instincts were trying to get him to pay attention to something, but he couldn’t figure out what.

“How many of you took notice of the latest Order-instigated technical conference on Coruscant?”

Gyre lit up like someone had shined a beacon on him. “The University-Sponsored Technical Innovations Conference of 5201. I was in the signal and databurst transmission refinement talks during your presentation, but I was present when Padawan Skywalker showed off his MSE-series droid improvements.”

Venge seemed amused. “A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed.”

“How do you improve upon mouse droids?” Grierseer asked.

“By turning them into a roving, overlooked security system,” Gyre replied. “It was a stellar idea—I didn’t even know it was possible to scale down some of the detection devices that Skywalker used.”

“The mouse droids in the Cathedral have already been programmed with some of the security protocols, but unfortunately the rest will have to wait for a complete rebuild of each droid,” Venge said. He straightened up and addressed the group in a more formal stance as the last box settled onto the table. “These, as Vos surmised, are gifts of a sort, but they are gifts with a price tag attached.”

One of the larger boxes opened without being touched, and the device inside floated into the air. Quinlan thought about making a joke about showy Jedi Masters, but then he took careful note of the strain on Venge’s face.

 _Energy burn,_ he realized, feeling like an ass. Quinlan and the other Shadows were used to big, showy displays of Fire being purged, but it made sense that little exercises would help, too.

The device in the air was a slender, silver rod, two-thirds the size of a full lightsaber hilt. “This is a public-use redesign of a commlink,” Venge said, and then the rod began to unfurl from its solid-looking shape, revealing a clear flex-screen about the width and length of a standard datapad, but only a few millimeters thick. “It has full comm functionality with digital viewing capability, an integrated datapad, and will read and write to most standard-sized data chips.”

“Now that is dead useful,” Fa’an said, eying the device covetously. “I’ve wanted a combined unit for a long time now, but most of them are unwieldy, unreliable devices that add too much weight to my kit.”

“Then I’m happy to be able to supply one that fits your needs,” Venge said, activating the display screen with a twitch of his fingers. “They’re programmable, as well, but the flex pad does mean there may be limitations to what you can do.”

“What price tag?” Skaalka asked with a huge grin. “Feel greedy; not sharing.”

“All of you will receive one of the rods,” Venge said, and gestured. The rod powered down and snapped closed like a rolling blind whipping into place, but without the annoying whap-whap sound. Quinlan _definitely_ approved.

“The price tag is that you are beta-testing the unit,” Venge explained, replacing the rod into its box. “That means you need to make careful observations of its functions and failings and report back to me. If it breaks too damned easily, then we need to know about it before full mass production begins.”

“I’m game,” said Tachi.

“Public redesign, huh?” Dravaco repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“I see twenty-four boxes, not twelve,” Fieff said.

“We are all so very reassured to discover that you can count,” Dravaco drawled back. “What’s the private option, Master?”

Venge rolled his right sleeve up to his elbow and held up his bare arm for inspection. “See anything unusual?”

“I see that you decided to use your arm as a shield in a knife fight,” Kurri observed in a dry voice, noticing one of Kenobi’s old scars. “That is generally ill-advised.”

“Do you see anything _aside_ from that particular Mandalorian gift?” Venge clarified.

Quinlan didn’t see a damn thing, but then Tachi squeaked, “I love you and I want to have your not-babies, Kenobi.” When everyone stared at her, she shook her head and said, “He figured it out, have you guys been living under rocks?”

Skaalka glanced upwards. “Yes. Under rock _now.”_

Venge touched two fingers to an area just above his wrist, and the wrist-comm he was wearing became visible. “Tachi is referring to this.”

“A wrist-comm that you were hiding with the Force?” Grierseer looked doubtful.

“No, and you are all barbarians for not knowing what Tachi is speaking of,” Gyre said, staring at the comm in a fashion that was disturbingly reminiscent of a starving street rat invited to a free banquet. “Have you lot not heard of Cloaking Inconsistency?” When only Tachi raised her hand, Gyre shook his head and explained. “Cloaking Inconsistency comes into play with small objects. We have been able to successfully cloak large objects—space ships—with stygium-based crystal technology for millennia. However, small objects have always proved impossible to hide with such technology.”

“Not to mention the fact that stygium crystals are getting kinda rare,” Quinlan added. One of his earliest missions with Aayla had been an attempt to prod at one of the old mines, hoping the rock would give up just one more handful of the crystals. They’d managed to find a single, unbroken crystal, but a successful stygium cloak required at least one hundred intact, flawless crystals.

“And yet there are personal cloaking devices,” Fa’an pointed out. “People are far smaller than starships.”

“Yes, but they’re prohibitively expensive just to purchase, never mind the cost of the energy requirements,” Gyre said. “Also, they only fool the naked eye and basic sensors. Personal cloaks can be detected by all but the simplest sensor arrays.”

“He means it’s a rich man’s escape chute,” Quinlan said. “Also, they blow up nicely if you time your shot right.”

Venge pulled the comm free of his wrist and then gave it a quick flick. The comm straightened out into a strap about five centimeters wide, and no thicker than the screen of the flex-pad rods. “This one is not a public option, and for now will remain in possession of the Jedi Order and Judicial. I’m sure the black market will get ahold of it not long after the first batches ship out, but I will not let them have it any sooner than necessary.”

Gyre was almost clapping his hands with glee. “Three-Two-One-One, yes? That was the last mathematical theory that seemed closest to dealing with the Inconsistency.”

Venge smiled. “No,” he said, and refused to elaborate, much to Gyre’s wide-eyed dismay and frustration. “This particular model of comm can function as a basic computer, but its primary purpose is to be a stealth communications device. It works in locked position—” Venge took a moment to replace the comm around his wrist, which reformed to settle directly against his skin, “—or like so. There is a biological recognition lock; if you set it to your own biometrics, it will not activate or reveal itself to anyone else. Of course, it also does this.” Venge reactivated the device’s cloak, and for all intents and purposes, it disappeared from his arm. “Not only will it lock on to your biometrics, it will match skin texture and body temperature, and will escape all but the most intense scrutiny.”

“I want a dozen of them,” Quinlan said, well aware of how many comms he could lay waste to during bad field missions.

“Now that is a device created by a man who thinks like a Shadow,” Kurri murmured, which made Venge frown.

“Feel bad for Skywalker,” Greegor said, smiling.

“The Padawan’s contribution pales in the face of such lovely toys,” Breegin added.

Gyre snorted. “‘Toys’ being ‘the correct term. The mouse droids weren’t the _only_ thing that Anakin Skywalker introduced to the world. Didn’t you hear about the fuss among the medical crowd?”

Herssella hissed out a delighted laugh. “Oh, I knew I had recognized the name. What a brilliant young man.”

“Anakin created the new sensor relays that will allow for true nervous system recognition of physical sensation in bionic replacements,” Venge said. Quinlan figured the man was allowed to look so damned pleased. It was a hell of an accomplishment from an eleven-year-old.

“And he’s already working on a second relay system that will work with the synth-skin, so that there’s a point to using synth coverings beyond it looking more realistic,” Gyre said. “I have quite a few friends in the Order who are looking forward to both innovations.”

Grierseer frowned. “Isn’t that…cheating? Or at least a form of stealing? You’re both aware of future technological advancements. If you use them now, does that not mean you are depriving the true inventors?”

Venge turned his head to give her an amused look. “We _are_ the original inventors. As such, there have been improvements. Both comm variants, for example, are shielded from being damaged by all but the most intense electrical discharges. Losing a comm to Force Lightning is inconvenient, at best.”

Fieff shrugged. “I’ve been electrocuted before. A bit of lightning doesn’t scare me.”

Quinlan took a full step back before he could stop himself. The shift in Venge’s expression was as swift as it was terrifying. “Congratulations,” Venge said in a harsh voice. “You have just volunteered to report to the rest of your fellow students what Force Lightning feels like.”

A corona of lightning appeared out of nowhere, surrounding Fieff, who shrieked like a burglary alarm when the electricity grounded itself through him. It lasted only three counts, but Fieff fell to his knees, panting, when it was done.

Venge hadn’t reached out, or pointed at Fieff. That was just about as chilling as the lightning itself. Quinlan glanced around at the other Shadows, most of whom were wearing similarly shocked expressions. There was an intense quiet, like the entire group was holding their breaths and waiting for another electrical outburst. Tachi just looked grim, as if she’d expected the reaction.

Maybe she had. Some days, Tachi just _got_ Kenobi in a way Quinlan never had.

Venge hadn’t moved, and his voice was like ice when he spoke. “Now, do tell them what it felt like.”

“F…f-fuck,” Fieff gasped, and then allowed Dravaco to give him a hand up. Dravaco flinched as sparks flashed between their gloved palms.

“It feels like copulating?” Breegin had shaken off the worst of his shock, and sounded curious instead of terrified.

“Hopefully not,” Greegor said, though his voice was wobbly. “Perhaps Fieff is doing it wrong?”

“You’re a….you’re a bastard,” Fieff announced, wrapping his arms around his body. “That fucking hurt!”

“I am aware,” Venge replied. He took two steps forward—Fieff flinched away from him—but only held out his hand. “Your palm, please. I will not be electrocuting you again. Yet.”

“It’s that ‘yet’ part that I’m not looking forward to,” Fieff retorted, but accepted what Venge offered. Quinlan caught sight of a tiny white pill, the sort designed to dissolve under the tongue.

“It will calm your nerves,” Venge said. “It is not poison this time, I promise.”

“I thought we shouldn’t trust the promises of a Sith?” Herssella asked.

Venge smiled. “It depends on the Sith. You may feel free to make an exception in this case.”

Fieff shoved the pill into his mouth with one finger, and within moments started to relax. “Damn, that is _potent.”_

“Do not get used to it; it is also highly addictive,” Venge warned him. “Be specific, now. The point of this was to learn from your experience, and share that knowledge with others.”

“Exhausting,” Fieff said, after another moment’s consideration. “That’s aside from the fact that it hurt like fuck-all. I feel like shit.”

“That is why Force Lighting is a bit more…exceptional.” Venge dropped his hands back down to his sides.

Quinlan stared at Venge’s clenched fists and swallowed back a flutter of nerves. Unplanned demonstration, then. Well, Venge _had_ promised them a real education in Sith-hood.

“Any fool can survive simple electrocution, but Force Lightning? Not only does it cause pain, as well as a lack of coordination from misfiring nerves, but it is mentally draining,” Venge told them. “It is hard to continue a battle if you lack the energy or willpower to pull yourself up from the floor.”

“No kidding,” muttered Fieff.

“What’s the difference between Force Lightning and Force Drain, then?” Tachi asked. Quinlan was curious about that one, himself.

Venge seemed disturbed by the question. “I will _not_ be demonstrating Force Drain. Ever.”

“Why not?” Dravaco asked. His eyes were narrowed as he soaked in every single word that was spoken.

“You can _recover_ from Force Lightning,” Venge answered. “It can be fatal if you are exposed to it non-stop, but if you get away, if you defend against it? You will ultimately be fine.”

“Then you _can_ defend against lightning,” Kurri said. A lot of tension bled out of the group at her words.

“Yes. I do not torture you without point, though it may soon seem otherwise,” Venge said with another faint smile. “There are methods by which you will learn to defend yourself—even your lightsaber will catch a directed burst of lightning. However, as you all observed, I did not gesture at Fieff, or otherwise tip my hand as to what was about to happen. The lightning originated upon his body, not from an outside point. It is then that defending yourself with a lightsaber is useless; you must rely upon your skill at Force manipulation. You must learn how your body responds to the lightning, and how to redirect it, how to neutralize it.”

“Oh, bloody balls,” Tachi blurted. “You plan on zapping all of us.”

Venge nodded. “Repeatedly, until you learn how to defend yourself in every way possible.”

“Fuck, we’re going to die,” Grierseer whispered, her eyes huge.

“If you have already given up, then you should leave in the morning,” Venge snapped back. “There is no place for that mindset here. You may suffer; you may feel intense pain; you may hate me before it is done. But you will not give up, else you are _useless_ to us.”

Grierseer ducked her head, chastened. Kurri, however, was undeterred. “Is that how you learned?”

“In a sense,” Venge admitted. “Here, you will have Healers to monitor your health and treat you for the aftereffects, which will restrict damage to your pride alone. It is not the only physical pain you will encounter during your training, but it will be the harshest one, with the highest probability of injury.”

“I take it you did not have Healers,” Herssella commented. Tachi made a face and shared a look with Quinlan. Creepy-ass Sith did not qualify as Healers.

Venge’s face lost all expression. “I baited Sidious into repeatedly electrocuting me with Force Lightning until I figured out how to counter all forms of the attack. This meant I suffered massive calcification of my skeletal structure, not to mention several dozen bone fractures. There was head-to-toe micro-tearing of tendons, muscles, and ligaments.” Venge’s jaw clenched. “The damage was permanent. I spent the next eighteen years of my life in constant, terrible pain. To this day, you can see the imprints of the electrical damage on my scans, though I no longer feel the effects. Ask the Healers to show you; it is pretty to look at, at least.”

“And he’s got a whole lot of translated scars,” Tachi said. “You should show them the not-lightsaber scars, Kenobi. Very sexy stuff.”

Venge’s left eye twitched, but his hands slowly relaxed at his sides. “You are all very nice people, but I am not removing my trousers in front of any of you.”

Quinlan had no idea that a Trandoshan could look so sympathetic, but Skaalka managed it very well. “Translated scars?”

Venge nodded. “Some scars do not go away. It does not matter if they are mental or physical; they write themselves into the core of who you are, and you carry them with you even when your physical form is gone.”

“That is neat, but also sort of daunting,” Grierseer said.

Quinlan glanced over when Dravaco coughed politely. Dravaco was biting his lip.

Venge looked at him, and must have understood the source of the other Master’s hesitation. “Ask.”

Dravaco swallowed visibly and plowed onward. “If Force Lightning feels draining, as Fieff says, then what does actual Force Drain do?”

“Ah.” Venge seemed hesitant to explain. “It pulls out your very life essence, and gives it to the one who is draining you. A single strike is enough to lose years off of your life. A complete drain ends with your death.”

The realization kicked in so hard, Quinlan actually lost a breath as the air rushed from his lungs. _Great angels of the sky._ He’d seen that part of the Sharing, and still hadn’t put it together. Old Ben had been old because Sidious had yanked a portion of his life right out of Obi-Wan’s core.

“Man.” Fieff was still rubbing his arms. “What does _that_ feel like?”

Venge’s voice was soft, almost inaudible: “Like having part of your soul ripped out.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Venge waited until everyone had left the room, tracing their paths with his eyes closed. Most of the Shadows were moving in a single clump of bodies towards the commissary, so wrapped up in their conversation that no one realized they had followed Gyre and his stomach towards food until they were right in front of it. Fa’an had gone to her room, still with the same troubled air she had returned to the Cathedral with. Tachi was politely stalking Su’um-Va, while Kurri was reporting to the other Healers for early assessment regarding her safe exposure to Force Lightning.

The moment the central corridor was clear, Venge stalked his way down the hall, exiting into the cathedral. He slammed his way through the smaller door that led outside. The cold bit into his skin, but it could not overcome the burn of Fire. The wave was so intense that it felt like acid gnawing its way up from his gut.

Venge let it out with a hoarse, resounding scream, a telekinetic blast that tore through the snow like a pyroclastic cloud. He fell to his knees, gasping and lightheaded. The air was thick with crystals, as if a blizzard had struck, and snow was falling back down with heavy wet thuds on either side of a trench that had been gouged straight down to Entrios’s solid earth.

He reached out with one shaking hand, touching the black, frozen ground with his bare fingertips. Despite the ice, the soil looked to be some of the richest, most fertile he’d ever seen. “Do the snows ever melt on their own?”

Ra’um-Ve threw a blanket over his shoulders, which made Venge realize his teeth were chattering as the cold finally sank in enough to be noticed. “What an odd question,” she said, and then looked down at what he was touching. “Ah. I don’t know. You’d have to ask Tholme, or MonMassa.”

Venge drew his hand back, wrapping himself in the blanket the Healer had brought for him. “Lucky guess?” he asked, in regards to her presence.

“No,” Ra’um-Ve answered. “I’m pretty sure everyone in the quadrant heard that, Obi-Wan.”

“Don’t call me that!” he snapped. “Not right now.”

Venge could feel Ra’um-Ve’s surprise, and tried his best to shut that awareness down. He’d awoken that morning and he could feel everyone. _Everything_. It was useful while teaching, when he had to monitor a bunch of intelligent and stubborn beings to ensure their safety. Not so when he just wanted a fucking minute alone in his own head!

“You’re afraid of the integration,” the Healer said.

Venge turned his head to glare at her, aware that Fire had already regained enough prominence to make his eyes glow. Ra’um-Ve glared right back, refusing to back down.

“Not afraid,” he said. “Angry.”

Ra’um-Ve gave him a flat look. “You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that.”

“You were correct, before. There is integration occurring,” Venge allowed. “The timing is inconvenient.”

“Why?”

Venge sighed. “It is extremely annoying to redevelop morals at a time when I need to electrocute my students with Force Lightning on a repetitive schedule.”

Ra’um-Ve smiled. “Now that sounds like Ben talking,” she said, which did not make him any happier. “Since I have your attention, I would like to ask you about the treatment we’ve given you. Do you feel any different?”

“Yes,” Venge said. “I find that I need to purge Fire a bit less often.” He was being literal; there was perhaps one less instance per day, but he did consider it an improvement.

“What’s that, then?” Ra’um-Ve asked, tilting her head in the direction of the trench. It was quickly filling back up with snow as the stirred-up flakes fell.

“A special occasion,” Venge answered, and then reverted to mindspeech. _We are being spied upon._

Ra’um-Ve was too skilled a Mind Healer to be startled by the unexpected communication. “How so?” she asked. She was working to keep her expression neutral, but her eyes had gone hard.

“Well. It is pretty, isn’t it?” Venge asked caustically. _They are hiding themselves in the Force, as I can. When the snow began to fall, I saw a brief outline of a humanoid shape in the distance before our visitor realized the potential for revelation and made themselves scarce._

“I keep forgetting that your father’s family is from a desert,” Ra’um-Ve grumbled. “It isn’t pretty, it’s a health hazard. Let’s get you inside before you freeze to the ground.” _Are we in danger?_

Venge allowed the Healer to help him to his feet. He was glad she was around to assist; he’d knelt too long in the snow. His legs were numb, his trousers coated in ice. “Everything is a health hazard,” he replied. _Not at the moment._

“It all depends on how you react to your environment,” Ra’um-Ve countered in a Healer’s lecture voice. _How can you be certain?_

Ra’um-Ve made Venge precede her through the door. The heat of the Cathedral felt thick and cloying after the intense chill. The moment the door shut behind them, Venge said, “I’m not,” before programming a recall command into the comm strapped to his wrist.

Ra’um-Ve made a disgruntled face. “A static jolt instead of a vibration? That’s your idea of silent mode?”

“It got your attention, did it not?” Venge countered, smiling, before leading the way to the commissary.

Venge kept his senses alert, but it seemed their friend had been made leery by the snow-trench incident. He was certain no one else was in the room but for twelve Jedi Shadows and four Healers. Tholme had gone to Coruscant that morning to oversee Fareesi’s transfer to long-term care, but would return once it was done.

“I will keep this brief,” Venge said. “There is a spy for Sidious on Entrios.”

“Where?” Tachi asked, battle ready in an instant.

“How do you know this?” Dravaco wanted to know.

“Where do you wish the grave to be dug?” Greegor added.

Venge was inordinately fond of that last option, and nodded his head at Greegor to denote his appreciation. “The spy is using my own technique of hiding to remain invisible to our eyes, to sensors, and the Force, but slipped just enough from an unexpected snowfall to temporarily reveal form, if not identity. I know that Sidious sent the spy because the spy has been here almost from the beginning.”

“Then why aren’t we…” Gyre hesitated.

“Dead?” Venge shook his head. “Sidious does not work that way. If he wished for any of us to die, he would not send a spy, but an executioner.”

“Killers become infamous; spies should never be noticed,” Kurri murmured.

“Aw, _fuck_ ,” Vos swore, brow furrowed in anger. “He was in the commissary during comm handouts, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Venge said, intrigued by Vos’s insistence on gender. As Emperor, Sidious had greatly preferred men to women or otherwise-gendered beings, so it was entirely possible that Vos was correct.

“What the hell do we do, then?” Fa’an asked, narrow-eyed. She had finally been distracted from her unease.

“At this point, our spy knows your names and faces, so there will be no hiding your existence and training from Sidious,” Venge said. “As far as secrets go, that is not a large one to give up; Sidious would have inferred our intention to create a program like this, regardless. If there is anything further that you do wish to keep secret, do not bring it here. Do not mention it aloud. If you have friends or family, send them one final message that you need to go comm-silent, and then do so, for their safety. I’ve had the droids reviewing comm and database access logs, confirming timestamps, since our very first day; so far, our spy has not tried to access either of those systems.”

“Perhaps he was reading over our shoulders,” Grierseer said. “I haven’t felt any prickly moments, though.”

“I haven’t, either,” Fieff said, looking relieved.

“I have,” Kurri said in a dark voice. “Three times now. I thought it was you, and was prepared to act accordingly, but no attack came.”

“When?” Venge asked.

“The first two were during our ten day trial,” Kurri replied. “The third was on our first day back."

 _Dammit._  “The last was not me. Was there anything confidential?”

“Nothing confidential, but I was speaking with Thrai, discussing the progression of her pregnancy,” Kurri said. The grip on her staff was white-knuckled, but Venge sensed protective urges, not rage.

“Then Thrai will be relocated,” Venge said. “As you and Tachi discussed during your first meeting—Sidious should not be granted easy access to any child of the Order.”

“You were outside when we talked about that,” Tachi said, crossing her arms.

Venge tilted his head. “So?”

“Is there anything happening inside the Cathedral that you don’t know?” Gyre asked.

Venge raised an eyebrow. “Yes. The identity of our spy.”

“Who we are going to catch, yes?” Breegin asked, tossing one of his knives back and forth from hand to hand.

“That is the plan.” Venge let his eyes roam over the small gathering of Shadows, catching each gaze in turn. No fear. Good. “We are rearranging the order of our lessons. Hiding will come first. While it does not make you able to see one who is hidden, a greater understanding of the tactics involved _will_ make it easier for you to discern when someone is hiding in your presence.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Saandirrin had no trouble constructing a lean-to in the middle of a thick copse of trees. He found the proper, insect-repelling leaves for his bed without much difficulty, though it took a few hours for the swelling on his arm to go down when the _jivva_ hornet stung him for stealing its home. He had mastered the art of the nigh-smokeless fire at his father’s knee, and was roasting a _chippenawa_ in the coals. The young Wookiee male was proving himself adept at surviving on his own in the Shadowlands of Kashyyyk. He had three days left to go, but it didn’t appear as if there would be any true difficulties for him.

Rillian was bored out of her mind.

She ate her cache of berries, one at a time, while keeping watch on Cousin Sandy’s campsite. He really had done well; from the ground, his lean-to was invisible, well-camouflaged from the eyes of most predators. He’d even remembered to roll in the mud to help mask his scent.

Rillian completely understood the difference in their _hrrtayyks_ now. Every time Sandy had so much as a minor mishap, her instincts had reared up and clamored at her, demanding Rillian give succor to her wounded male brethren.

Her instincts were _stupid._ The urge to care for the weak was useful for raising cubs, but not for training warriors. Even if it would not have meant failure of her own _hrrtayyk_ , Sandy wouldn’t have appreciated a Wookiee maiden coming along to coo all over his minor scrapes

Before dusk, three large _orikks_ came bumbling out of the trees, snorting out plumes of mist as they raised their large snouts into the air. Rillian saw the gleam of their teeth, with runners of saliva already visible, and picked up her _ryyk_.

She was no longer bored, not with predators on the hunt. _Orikks_ appeared clumsy and harmless at first glance, but once they scented prey, they were agile, vicious hunters.

The _orikks_ circled below her, but Rillian was safely out of reach, nesting in a _chi_ tree about ten meters above the ground. Her position was a bit of a cheat, but the wind had shifted yesterday. Ground-level antics meant that Sandy might pick up on the scent of another Wookiee.

Now, Rillian had to wait and see if the _orikks_ were going to pick up on her cousin’s scent, instead. So far, they were avoiding the copse of trees he camped in, but if the wind shifted again…

It took a long time for the _orikks_ to lose interest in the clearing. The beasts knew something edible had been in the area, but could not track it further. Rillian glanced over at the campsite, noting with pleasure that Sandy had climbed about three meters into one of his sheltering trees without even drawing her notice. His _ryyk_ blade was clenched between his teeth as he quietly waited to see what the predators would do.

Rillian let out a relieved sigh as the _orikks_ finally bumbled off, disappearing into the darkness as night began swallowing up the Shadowlands. Sandy would no doubt have proven himself capable, but Rillian would have been embedding her claws into the tree to keep from leaping to his aid.

Stupid, stupid instincts. Even the Force could not overcome thousands of years of evolutionary nonsense.

Rillian slept badly that night, hearing _orikks_ stumble about with every snap and crackle of leaf and branch. It was dumb to be so concerned with those particular predators—there were so many other, far more dangerous beasts lurking about.

The scents from Sandy’s breakfast fire were torture. Rillian had her own food, but it didn’t compare to the smell of roast meat wafting up to greet her. She shifted in place, thinking dark thoughts about teasing cousins. Even a bit of jerky would placate her traitorous stomach. She resolved to go hunting that night, once she was certain that Saandirrin slept.

Rillian heard it coming long before it ever reached her. _That is not even remotely funny_ , she thought, judging the rain had at least three more minutes before it penetrated the final layer of the canopy. It had to be a fierce storm, for the rain to arrive in such an audible, intact fashion all the way down here.

Either way, she was not prepared for a downpour. _Chi_ trees kept all of their leaves far above, so suitable cover was needed.

Rillian glanced around, and found just what she needed only a few meters distant. There was a vine cluster of the insect-repelling leaves, the _kivim,_ growing on the next tree. She quickly stowed the berries with the rest of her gear, and stood up to acquire a _kivim_ to use as a rain hat.

She missed one. A single berry bounced off the branch she had been sitting on, and began to fall.

Rillian acted, swinging herself around to the back of the tree and digging her claws in the bark. She took a deep breath, held it, and then kept herself absolutely still as the berry hit the dry leaf bed below with a sharp _snap-pop_.

She heard the short scuffle of Sandy leaping from his lean-to, his _ryyk_ blade probably at the ready. [Who is there?] Sandy roared.

 _You idiot_ , Rillian thought. Her cousin must have been meat-scent addled, to do something so patently ridiculous. _If there really was a danger, you just told it how to find you._

Sandy did a full circuit of the clearing that bordered his campsite, ignoring the rain that was now striking the earth. It would not soak either of them to the skin, but it was damp enough to be unpleasant.

A minute crawled by, and then another, and another. Sandy was standing directly below her. Rillian hoped he finished his exploration soon. She wasn’t worried about him sighting her—a _chi_ tree was the perfect match to her black and silver fur, and the pervasive twilight made her appear as a part of the tree’s dark bark. It was sound that was critical; a Wookiee on hyper-alert might notice the intake of breath, and Rillian was starting to feel the need for air.

At last, Sandy retreated to his lean-to.   Rillian waited another minute’s count, and then released her held breath as a soft puff of air before quickly sucking in fresh oxygen. It smelled and tasted of rain, mold, rot, and stirred-up earth.

 _The dishonor of having failed a_ hrrtayyk _due to a_ berry _,_ Rillian thought in disgust, and then had to restrain a fit of laughter a moment later.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“You’re going to have to put away the mask,” Venge said.

Fieff gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw cracked. He _refused_ to jump, even though Venge had, once again, snuck up on him. “I don’t want to. It’s useful.”

Venge sat down at the other side of Fieff’s table. They were alone in the commissary, which usually stayed empty from midnight until fourth hour. Fieff liked his quiet time…when he could actually get it.

“Useful, how?” Venge asked him.

Fieff frowned. “I’ve gotten a lot of intel over the years by pretending to be a moron. Even the most secretive of bastards have opened their mouths and sung beautiful secrets to me, thinking that I was just some dumb fuck from the Territories.” Many of his fellow Jedi knew the buffoonery to be a mask, and still they fell for it.

“You are currently among allies,” Venge pointed out in a neutral voice, as if sensing the direction of his thoughts. For all Fieff knew, he was an open book to the not-Sith.

“So?” Fieff put his datapad down on the table, aware that his instructor wasn’t going to leave him alone until Fieff put his best argument forward. “What if one of us Falls? I’d rather the lot of them think me an idiot than give a potential crazy ex-Jedi traitor even a bit of intel to use against me.”

Venge gave him that creepy smile of his. “There are many among the Order who would consider me a crazy ex-Jedi traitor, Fieff.”

“You’re teaching us how to kill things like you. Kind of hard to put someone in the traitor column when they’re actively handing you all their secrets.”

Venge nodded. “Fair enough. Be prepared, then. Tomorrow you are going to be called upon to reveal your newly discovered natural talent before the class.”

“Do I have to?” he asked, scowling. That was definitely top on the list of intel he’d like to keep secret.

“In this case, yes. You need not reveal that your particular skillset is anything other than blind luck and fortunate timing.”

“Thank you,” Fieff said, grateful that Venge had gifted him with a way out of awkward conversations.

Venge stood up. “By the way, stop lingering in the hall to stare into the old commissary. None of the others need to stumble into that mess before they’re ready.”

Fieff snorted. “What, you’re not going to warn me to stay out of there, too?”

Venge paused. “You are ready to face that particular Chamber of Trial already, Fieff. It is technique that you lack, not mental fortitude. Go inside whenever you like,” he said, and left the commissary.

Fieff stared after him, feeling gooseflesh break out on his skin like the prick of a thousand needles. That was _not_ what he had expected to hear.

The next morning, he entered the lecture hall and understood why Venge had pushed him into his position of unwilling teacher’s aide. His eyes took in the old man sitting on the table near the lectern. White hair, pale blue eyes, robes just shy of threadbare—he looked like a harmless old man, or a retired Jedi Master, if one noticed the lightsaber at his belt.

To Fieff, the image was instinctively, screamingly _wrong._

“Thanks a _lot_ ,” Fieff grumbled, settling into the desk he’d started to think of as his. The others were going to arrive, find out who the old man really was, and grumble about Sith trickery…unless Fieff showed them otherwise. Dammit, he hated being independent verification.

“Thank you for what?” the old man asked. Even his voice was different—it had the younger man’s refined tone, but there was something broken and rough underneath. There had been no pictures of old Ben Kenobi in that file, but Fieff would bet his eyeteeth that he was staring at a perfect replication.

“Stop being coy. It’s weird,” Fieff said, and then put his mask back on as Tachi breezed through the doorway. She always looked fresh and well-rested, and Fieff had no idea how she managed it.

Tachi stopped, blinked at the illusion sitting at the table, and guffawed. “Oh, this should be fun,” she said, sitting down next to Fieff.

The others arrived in short order, settling into their desks. Skaalka always sat down politely in her chair, though none of the Shadows would have held it against her if she’d broken the desk portion off just to have a more comfortable seat.

To Tachi’s credit, she did manage to wipe the revealing smirk from her face before anyone else could see it. Instead, Fieff listened to the Force-undertones of a bunch of Shadows trying to deduce just who or what they were dealing with. Only Kurri and Vos lacked curiosity. He did wonder what had tipped Kurri off.

Then the old man said, “Good morning,” in Venge’s voice, and the curiosity skyrocketed into intense surprise and discomfort as too many Shadows realized they’d made a dangerous assumption.

“Well, at least I don’t need to rub it in,” Venge said, dropping the illusion. The older features melted away, revealing the younger face beneath. “Or perhaps you would prefer this?” he asked, and became the spitting image of that dead Sith that Kenobi and Jinn had dealt with on Naboo.

 _Damn,_ Fieff thought in admiration, though he was careful to keep startled dismay on his face. _I want to be able to do that._ Rapid shift from one Force Illusion to the next would be damned useful in the field. He’d never been able to maintain even his simple illusions for more than a few minutes at a time.

“Eh, put Maul away. It’s always extra creepy when you do that,” Vos said.

“Maul was very good at pure visual intimidation,” Venge agreed, but dropped the illusion of the dead Zabrak.

“Force Illusion,” said Skaalka in a curious tone.

“Sith trickery,” Grierseer spat. Of them all, she was the angriest about being fooled by the false image of the old man. _Oh, babe, you’ve got_ no _idea,_ Fieff thought, thinking about the old commissary.

“What makes you think it a Sith talent?” Venge asked her.

“It’s designed to hide, to fool, to _deceive_ ,” Grierseer bit out. “What else could it be?”

Venge raised an eyebrow. “You are in the wrong line of work,” he said, which made Grierseer flush a deep mauve.

“It’s not the same,” she protested. “We are Jedi who follow the Force! Our actions are meant to help and defend others.”

“And yet you often practice deception in order to do so,” Venge countered. “Are you angry because of the implications you think the ability holds, or because you could not tell illusion from reality?”

Grierseer bit her lip. “I don’t know. Perhaps both.”

“Fieff,” Venge said. “Tell them how you retrieved your lightsaber.”

Fieff felt eleven pairs of eyes focus on him. It was not difficult to manufacture a blush response. “The wall at the end of the Posh Line isn’t real. It’s an illusion. Our instructor’s private quarters are hidden behind it. Once I realized it, I went through the illusion and…uh…”

“Nearly got himself embedded in a wall,” Venge clarified. “I was not expecting company.”

“That, yeah,” Fieff said. He’d gone from intrigued to pants-shitting terrified in the space of a heartbeat. Not his best moment.

“How did you know?” Dravaco asked, curious.

“Because Fieff has a natural talent for Force Illusion, as do I,” Venge said, shifting the group’s focus back to him. “I discovered the talent during the war, when I desperately needed to hide a wounded battalion of soldiers from discovery.”

“Acting in defense of others,” Fa’an said, with a pointed glance at Grierseer.

“The reports we received from MonMassa said that Palpatine had been fooled into thinking you were his dead apprentice, but never specified how it was done.” Kurri’s smile was a fair match for Venge’s in its predatory nature. “Now I understand.”

“Blasphemy, blacklisted techniques, Sithly-ness…” Greegor began.

“This is the best training ever,” Breegin finished.

“Why is it blacklisted?” Gyre asked. “I’ve never even heard of it before, but then, my specialty is tech, not esoterics.”

“Because of its potential for abuse, as Grierseer immediately intimated,” Venge said. “It was never officially made illegal; the Order as a whole just stopped talking about Force Illusion. There are a mere handful of us who still practice it, because natural talent cannot be denied.”

“Can it be taught?” Herssella asked, flexing her talons and gouging the wood of her chair.

“Yes,” Venge answered. “Vos has already taught himself the basics, evolving upon his Master’s technique of Notice-Me-Not.”

Vos sat up from his comfortable slouch. “I have?”

Venge smiled. “I told you that you were close.”

“Well, damn,” Vos muttered, frowning.

“Other question,” Skaalka said. “All _capable_ learning this?”

Venge’s smile faded. “I do not know. Illusion will be difficult to learn. The demonstration I gave to you is complex, and far more advanced than anything you need to know right away. I do not expect mastery of what I do teach you from anyone except Fieff.”

 _Great,_ Fieff thought darkly. His mask and his inner self were in agreement on that one.

“It is light-bending that should take up most of your secondary efforts.”

“Light-bending?” Fieff asked, deciding it was time to play stupid again. “What does that have to do with Force Illusion?”

“I did say that we would focus our efforts on hiding first,” Venge said, before anyone had the chance to mock Fieff for the dumbass question. “Hiding yourself completely from a Force-sensitive enemy is a three-fold task. Light-bending is required to hide yourself from prying eyes. A basic technique of Force Illusion is needed to mask the evidence of your _movement_ from eyes and sensors, else the distortion would be easy to discern. You must hide within the Force to keep your enemy from sensing you directly.”

“Wouldn’t that be the hardest part?” Fa’an spoke up. “Hiding within the Force sounds far more complicated than illusions and light-bending.”

“Nah, that part’s easy,” Tachi said, and proceeded to drop out of Fieff’s perception.

 _“Wow,”_ Gyre breathed, though Fa’an gasped and Dravaco looked like he’d been kicked.

“Do not be a show-off,” Herssella grumbled.

“Actually, Tachi is correct,” Venge said, to Fieff’s surprise. “It appears to be difficult because it is a technique that fell out of practice for thousands of years, and thus was entirely unfamiliar to the entirety of the Jedi Order. The actual process, once you understand the mechanics, is not difficult at all. I only required one lesson in its application to put it into practice. If you _do_ stumble, Tholme will be available to tutor you all in the less difficult technique of Notice-Me-Not. Be warned, though, that you should not stop making the attempt to hide. Notice-Me-Not will not save you from a trained Sith.”

Vos stood up. “You say I’m close, right?”

Venge nodded. “Go ahead, Vos.”

Vos took a deep breath, held it, and then vanished. A few seconds later, their perception of him in the Force blinked out. He reappeared a few seconds later, gasped, and fell back down in his chair, though he was still invisible to Fieff’s Force-sense.

“Oh, you complete shit!” Tachi swore at Vos, laughing. “I was going to be first!”

“Suck it, Tachi,” Vos retorted, grinning.

“Congratulations,” Venge said. “Any difficulties?”

“Sound was a bit muffled,” Vos replied. “What do I do about that?”

“Refine your refraction shielding until you are satisfied with the quality of sound,” Venge said, which…almost made sense, if Fieff considered sound and light wave properties. It was also disappointing, in a way. He’d been hoping that Force-Hiding involved a type of illusion that he just didn’t understand how to see. Instead, Fieff was dealing with a _lack_ of illusion, except for that disguised movement bit.

“The trick lies in making sure that sounds come in, but the sounds you make do not go out,” Venge clarified.

“Shit, I didn’t even think about that,” Vos said, and started frowning again. It made him look grim and determined, like a Kiffar male on a blood quest.

“You’re not going to be second if I figure out how to do it first,” Dravaco said in direct challenge to Tachi, and then turned back to Venge. “How did you learn to hide like this?”

“For a long time, I thought I’d learned it from a Jedi Master,” Venge replied. “After the memory-block was removed, I realized that it must have been the other way around. I first learned it while in Sidious’s company. The Jedi Master observed my instruction, and when I had forgotten it all, he taught it to me again.”

“How could he have done that?” Grierseer asked. “How could he have watched you learn it and not gotten himself killed by the Sith?”

Kurri started laughing. “Force ghosts again, girl. _There is no death; there is the Force.”_

“Indeed,” Venge said, looking amused.

“Why does everyone find that so hard to believe?” Fieff turned to look at Fa’an, who was staring back at them all with a defiant expression. “I dream of my Grand-Master often, and she is just as pushy in my dreams as she was in life. She is not coming to me while I am awake, but I have no doubt that it is her.”

“I have a question,” Herssella said, rising up to her full height until hers and Skaalka’s heads were on the same level. “It is one I have been dwelling on since we first read your story. What would you have done if you had succeeded?”

Venge blinked at her. Even to Fieff, he seemed caught off-guard. “What?”

“If you had succeeded in killing Sidious, during your third attempt on his life, what would you have done?” Herssella asked.

Venge stared at her. A moment later, the durasteel wall to his left gave a loud _crack_ and split apart in a straight line from floor to ceiling.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Jenna Zan Arbor was led to her new laboratory with blackout lenses over her eyes and plugs in her ears, keeping her from seeing or hearing anything about her route. It was a well-thought precaution, but it did not keep her from feeling the turns that were made, the flow of air over her skin, or count how many seconds it took for the turbolift to cross a horizontal plane before dropping downwards again. Perhaps the Jedi thought they were the only beings capable of such memorization, a foolish bit of arrogance that worked in her favor.

By the time she arrived, Jenna knew the path back to the detention center, as well as the path back to the hangar bay by which she’d arrived. Her escape might not be possible, but all information was valuable.

The plugs and lenses were removed, allowed Jenna to view her new home. It was spacious compared to a cell, but not comparable to the luxury she used to maintain. Still, beggars should not be choosers, especially given the quality of the lab instrumentation she could see. She walked forward, aware of Jedi guardian eyes upon her, and ran her hands over sleek surfaces, investigating each unit in turn. There was no tampering that would hinder her efforts, though much of it was monitored so that her work would be recorded, and likely scrutinized.

There was a section devoted to living quarters, though there were no walls, not even for the well-appointed refresher. There was a true water shower in a tiled corner, sink, toilet, and even a chair and small table for toiletries, which was a strange bit of kindness that made her suspicious. The lack of privacy was of no concern, though she imagined it was meant to foster her dependence on her captor’s favor.

“Does it suit your needs?”

Jenna made a slow turn. Her Jedi guards stood with their arms crossed, faces expressionless. She was almost certain that the blonde was their chief of security. She was young; not foolish, but perhaps there was potential for misdirection. Her Nautolan companion would be more susceptible, but it remained to be seen who her full-time guards would be…or if droids would be her only long-term companions.

The Neti was the most fascinating feature of the room, outside of the equipment it housed. Jenna stared back at the plant species, which had assumed a humanoid female shape in direct contradiction to the myths surrounding the Neti. This Neti had become the Master of the Order, when it was Windu whom Jenna had thought would be her greatest challenge. The Neti was willing to barter, to a certain extent, for the lives of other Jedi. Beyond that, she was a non-entity. Jenna would have to proceed carefully.

“It is acceptable,” Jenna told the Neti. “Will I be receiving assistance with my work, or will I be expected to perform every single step on my own?”

“Do you _require_ assistance?” the Neti woman countered.

It was a valid question. Jenna considered the matter. “Perhaps,” she said. “Two months is not a lot of time for the full extent of what I may need to do.”

“You will have monitored droid assistants for primary lab work, when you request them,” the Neti granted. “If you need someone more capable, Master Tiin has agreed to serve you in that capacity.”

Jenna narrowed her eyes. “ _Is_ he capable?” she asked, in the same tone the Neti had used.

“He managed to replicate Shillanis quickly enough.”

“That will do.” Perhaps the Iktotchi male would be useful. Shillanis had proved itself to be a brilliantly manufactured substance. For all that it was simple to make, Jenna had yet to fathom how it worked. It was a large part of the reason why she had agreed to Kenobi’s deal—the puzzle of Shillanis was worth her time.

“Then I will leave you to it,” the Neti said, and departed. The door opened without her needing to request it, which meant the entry was monitored.

“The status updates you asked for will be passed on to you each time we receive new information,” the blonde guard told Jenna. “To save time, they will be uploaded to your datapad automatically.”

Jenna lifted her head. She did like efficiency. “Thank you.”

The guard did not vocally respond, but did bob her head in acknowledgement of Jenna’s manners. She gestured at the Nautolan, and the two left with another opening hiss and thump of her cell’s door.

Jenna went back to the small, inset control panel she’d found near the refresher area. With a press of a button, she had a visual of Coruscant’s skyline, meant to soothe her when windows could not be offered.

She studied the traffic for a minute before turning it off. It was only a distraction from her true goal, and she made her way towards the area where the Neti Jedi had stood.

Jenna knelt down, opening the panel to the DNA sequencer to study the boards inside. Lovely machine, she thought, leaning back to put her left hand on the ground, as if to keep her balance.

Beneath her index fingertip, she felt the tiny flake of material stick to her skin. She frowned; that meant partial contamination issues, but with the equipment provided, she would be able to clean contamination from both sides of the sample for purity.

Jenna rose up from the floor, brushing the flake into her jumpsuit pocket before continuing with her partial strip-down of the sequencer.

She had always wanted to know what a Neti was really made of.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Rillian watched the light turn dark, almost counting the seconds as sunset approached. The eve of the fifth day meant a return home. Her challenge wouldn’t end with dusk, though. She still had to keep Saandirrin from noticing her until he arrived safely in their village. She thought the return trip would at least present more of a challenge than catching her food and keeping out of her cousin’s way.

Rillian cleared her sinuses with a gentle snort, so as not to alert Sandy. He was in the process of scattering the materials that had made up his lean-to, his new silken bandolier still glistening in the remaining light. The fine threads were almost the same color as his blond fur, a bit of token camouflage that Rillian appreciated.

Despite her boredom, Rillian was truly proud of her kin. Just living in the Shadowlands for five days had not been enough for Sandy. He had harvested the threads of a _ryyhn_ plant to further challenge himself. It was a difficult enough task to do with friends, but Sandy had lowered himself into place above the plant, just out of reach of the dangerous petals, and plucked a single fiber at a time. Then, he had patiently waited for the plant to re-open before stealing another silken thread.

Rillian had spent the entire venture terrified. If he’d misjudged, the plant would have swallowed him whole. _Ryyk_ blades were not her tool of choice when it came to dueling densely fibrous, carnivorous plants.

Sandy went to his chosen _wroshyr_ tree and began his climb. Rillian timed her descent from her _chi_ tree with each thunk of his claws impacting bark, lowering herself to the ground. She waited until she was certain that his attention was fully upon his climb, and darted towards his former campsite. Part of Saandirrin’s _hrrtayyk_ involved leaving no trace, and it was Rillian’s job to ensure that he had done so.

There was nothing for her to find, to her relief. If she had not spent five days keeping careful watch, Rillian would never have known that another Wookiee had camped in the area. Not even a tuft of hair remained behind, so thorough had he been.

Rillian went back to scout her own pseudo-camp, checking the ground around her tree. She retrieved that traitorous berry from the leaves and discarded its shriveled corpse underneath the bush it had come from. Her tree had no telltale bits of black or silver hairs to reveal her presence, and her claw gouges looked much the same as any other claw-bearing Shadowland predator’s markings. Her toilet area, as far from Sandy’s campsite as she had dared to go, had already been checked for revealing scents or other evidence.

Sandy was now a good ten meters above and climbing quickly. Rillian selected a different _wroshyr_ , close enough to be a leap away if he found trouble, and began to climb.

It was a long, long way up.

Three kilometers later, it was full dark. Rillian’s arms were burning, her thigh muscles aching. Far above her head, Sandy climbed over the village railing. Moments later, she could hear the distant, celebratory roars of her kin as they greeted him.

[Oh, good,] Rillian said, and paused in her climb to rest weary muscles. Sandy had spent a comfortable time on the ground, but Rillian had been treebound most of the time. She was a Temple-raised Wookiee, and no longer used to long, sustained climbs.

[Are you out of shape, cub?] a teasing voice asked.

[I’m _tired_ ,] Rillian countered, which was also true. She was not going to admit that she shouldn’t have neglected her climbing practice, not when her own _hrrtayyk_ was not yet concluded.

[Well, you did choose an interesting vantage point to keep watch over young Saandirrin,] her mystery companion replied, and then a lump on the next _wroshyr_ tree moved. Rillian couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across her face as the solid black Wookiee revealed her presence.

[Hello, Wrrlgraaha,] Rillian said. [Are you my watcher?]

[I was,] Wrrlgraaha agreed, coming close enough that Rillian could see the fine, crystalline blue of the female Wookiee’s eyes. [But now Sandy’s _hrrtayyk_ is over, and thus yours is, also. Congratulations, Raallandirr. You did a fine job.]

Rillian felt an upswell of pride, but ducked her head. [Thank you, Elder.]

[You’re welcome. Shall we continue on?]

Rillian nodded. The climb no longer seemed so onerous, now that she knew that she was done and judged a success. [Am I allowed to talk about it, now?]

[Is there something in particular you wished to say, Raallandirr?] Wrrlgraaha asked her.

[Well…] Rillian plowed on. [Is it okay to say that I found most of it boring?]

Wrrlgraaha burst out laughing. [It’s all right to say so, but not in your cousin’s hearing. The male ego is such a fragile thing, and it would be unkind to crush the courage he has just built.]

Rillian felt a little better. [Is it always that way for us?]

Wrrlgraaha was also a female warrior, and understood what Rillian meant. With Rillian now an adult, there were fifty-three of them on all of Kashyyyk. [Not always. Some of us have more difficulty suppressing our instincts than others. I imagine that Saandirrin’s _ryyhn_ harvest was not boring, at least.]

[No, it was not,] Rillian agreed. They were almost to the village railing. Rillian was suddenly tired again, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in her hammock and sleep until lunchtime the next day.

[You are also a Jedi Padawan. I would only have been surprised to hear if you had _not_ found your _hrrtayyk_ a bit dull,] Wrrlgraaha said, chuckling. [You will represent us well in the Order, as did the great Tyvokka before you.]

[Did you know him?] Rillian asked. It was easier than dwelling on the fact that she kept finding herself compared to the former Head of the Order. There were other Wookiee Jedi she could be measured by, but always it was him. It was starting to get unnerving.

Wrrlgraaha’s humor remained, but it became blunted by sadness. [We were to be wed, when his role as Head of the Order was completed,] she said in a quiet howl. [I still miss him so.]

Tears stung Rillian’s eyes. [I am sorry for your heart’s loss.]

Wrrlgraaha nodded, but did not speak again that night. Instead, she helped Rillian over the village railing, and left her to be caught up in Master Qui-Gon’s embrace when Rillian’s knees refused to support her any longer.

“Did you have a nice time?” he asked in a teasing voice, recognizing it was exhaustion and not injury that had felled her.

[Yes, Master,] Rillian replied. She was glad to have his assistance on the long walk back to their guest quarters. Sandy and the other villagers were nowhere to be seen, but she could hear roars and music in the distance. Tonight was his celebration, a singular recognition of his accomplishment.

Tomorrow evening would be hers. She would be presented by her uncles. Her role would be revealed to Sandy. Then there would be food that she didn’t have to catch on her own and eat raw, which was honestly the most appealing part of the entire ceremony.

Her hammock was soft and comfortable, lined with a woven blanket so new that it was saturated in her mother’s scent. [How did my parents handle my absence?] Rillian asked with a yawn.

Master Qui-Gon pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, as if sensing Rillian’s need to cocoon herself away from the outside world for a time. “Your mother was sedate and confident in your abilities. I do believe your uncles resorted to Wookiee homebrew to get your father to calm down.”

[That’s what I get for being the youngest,] Rillian mumbled. She would be his only child to take the _hrrtayyk_. Her two older siblings were females, already beginning families of their own in other villages.

“I am certain he will be dignified for you tomorrow evening,” Master Qui-Gon said.

Rillian nodded. [If anyone wakes me up before dawn, I’ll bite them.]

“I will do my best to keep the curious at bay,” he promised, just as Rillian contentedly passed out.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Venge paced back and forth in his quarters like a caged beast…or like a caged great cat. The mental association spurred him into taking _some_ form of action, at least.

Qui-Gon responded to his comm message after a long delay that had Venge wanting to scream and tear down the walls. [What is it? Rillian will awaken soon, so I do not have much time.]

[What would I have done?] His fingers were shaking; Venge had to correct the message three times before he could send it.

Another long, teeth-grinding delay. [I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific.]

 _Fuck_. There was no mental back-and-forth at the moment; Qui-Gon would not have known the nature of his inquiry. [When I fought Sidious. The third time. What would I have done if I won?]

While waiting for the reply, Venge carved two meters of rock out from behind the warped wall. Fire wanted out. Fire wanted control. Fire wanted him to rip down the entire complex and burn it to ash.

[What brought this to mind?]

Venge gnashed his teeth, cutting his lip. He spat blood onto the floor and jabbed the keypad so hard that the flex-screen threatened to crack. [BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW!]

He ordered himself not to throw the comm into the wall, or dash it upon the floor. He didn’t actually have a replacement for this one, and it was too useful to discard in a fit of temper.

The delay was the longest yet, this time. Venge imagined he finally had his mate’s full attention, and then regretted the intense glee he felt. Rillian was Qui-Gon’s priority at the moment, not his half-mad spouse.

[I think you would have destroyed the entire fucking place, and then dragged Vader out from its depths.]

Venge’s lip gave an involuntary twitch. Qui-Gon saved swearing for special occasions, and Sidious’s hellhole always warranted it. [And then what?] He had terrible thoughts about reclaiming Vader as his own apprentice, and starting the entire Sith cycle all over again.

[Given what Anakin has said of Vader’s post-Mustafar treatment and the lack thereof, I imagine that tossing Vader into a bacta tank would be a valid choice] Qui-Gon sent back. [One step at a time, after all.]

Venge stared at the comm display. Right. He could do that. He was doing it right now.

One damned step at a time.


End file.
